


home

by chii



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Pre-OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 06:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11549421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: It takes Shiro longer than everyone else to figure out exactly what home means to him, after the war ends. Keith promises to wait, despite everything.





	home

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I bother to try and write drabbles, I know this will end up happening. 
> 
> Anyway, lots of people to mention for influence/ideas/etc. Lee's talked a whole lot about Shiro and self-worth (or lack thereof) and his beach scene in his latest fic made me pound my fists on the table. Plus, the idea of either Keith or Shiro not being able to stay post-war is super interesting to me. Brig gets massive thanks for glancing over this for me. This is for Samii whose thirst for Allura is unrivaled and when she requested OT3 poly stuff, I wrote porn and not actually what was requested so I had to unfuck it here. :)

Shiro’s been back to Earth six times since the war ended and stayed for less than a week each time. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to be back - God knows that it was all he wanted for the longest time, being on Earth again, being with his team in a place where things were _safe_. Inevitably, an itch starts under his skin like it’s too tight and if he moves the wrong way, it’s just going to split and spill out all the things he can’t keep locked up.

He can’t just stay. Not when he knows that while the war may be over, there’s still too much else that’s wrong in the universe and there aren’t enough people out there to fix all of it. He can’t ask the others to do it, either. Out of all of them, Keith’s the only one who would consider it and if Shiro asked, he’d say yes. Shiro won’t ask.

The first time he leaves, Keith holds him the entire night before, neither of them sleeping. 

_I thought it would be me that had to leave_ , Keith whispers, breath soft against Shiro’s throat. The shadows between the curves of their bodies swallows the words up. Shiro doesn’t respond with anything, but they both know he’s thinking _me, too._

_I’ll be back._ It’s a promise he’s made a dozen times throughout the years and he’s always kept it. That doesn’t stop the gutted look he catches when Black pulls up the screen to watch him as they leave. The second time, Keith _understands_ , but it kills him a little more and Shiro knows - he _gets it_ , but he can’t just _stay_. He can’t sleep in a normal bed and wake up and pretend like they don’t know what’s out there. 

Allura offers to bring him on diplomacy missions and he tries that, for a while, up until they visit a planet and he realizes that he’s the one who killed half of the names on a monument that stands in remembrance of those lost during the war. He doesn’t remember who they were or what they looked like but it doesn’t matter. That’s part of the problem. His memory after escaping Haggar was already patchwork pieces, but the last time she got her hands on him, it was even worse. Now, he relies on Black to remind him of things if he forgets and if Black doesn’t know, he covers or lets one of the others fill in the blanks for him. 

Diplomacy won’t work. He returns to Earth again and only stays overnight, just long enough for Keith to get out of work and to see him; he knows the moment Keith realizes he’s not staying. Half of him expects the same awful look of realization, of acceptance, the other half of him waits for Keith to yell. If he yelled, this would be easier. Maybe Shiro could pretend that he was doing this for Keith instead of doing it because he wasn’t strong enough to stay. 

Nothing so easy, though. Keith tells him to go, that he’ll be here waiting like always and Shiro steps into Black and vanishes again. The third time, he meets with the Blades. They don’t normally accept members who aren’t Galra but their numbers are decimated post-war and not even Matt’s rebels are enough to fill the ranks. They can’t have him do undercover work with any left over factions of Haggar and Lotor’s men, but there are plenty of missions for him to go on. He trains the new ones hard -- _as hard as you fought in the arena_ , Kolivan says firmly. He trains them harder. 

After a year of being gone, after a year of letters and pictures and trying to keep up with his team from a thousand light years away, he comes back. Thinks maybe, he’s enough this time. There’s a new address this time; the apartment that he and Keith rented either compromised due to paparazzi or something else. Keith never specified, but when Shiro comes back to the new apartment, it’s a one bedroom. The decor is the same - minimalist, all of Shiro’s things neatly moved to approximately where he’d left them in the old place, but it’s clear that Keith isn’t staying here much. There’s dust on nearly every surface.

“Do you not like the new apartment?” Shiro asks over dinner the third night because it’s taken him the prior two to work up the courage to a question he knows he doesn’t want the answer to. 

The itch under his skin is back; yesterday, the press found out he was back again and his work and personal emails were bombarded with people trying to interview him after years of silence. Somehow, despite trying to be less in the limelight, his unwillingness to speak to anyone has translated into _even more_ people wanting to dig into him and get details that evidently the rest of the stories don’t cover as much as they’d like. It’s infuriating; he doesn’t know how the others cope. 

“It’s just me here,” Keith stabs his fork into a piece of pasta. There’s no accusation to his tone, but there doesn’t need to be. “I’ve been helping Lance and Hunk with their house and staying with Allura on weekends.” 

Another man would be jealous; another man would comment on how close Keith and Allura have been over the years, closer still all the times Shiro’s vanished. Now, all he feels is a sense of relief and then a flood of guilt at that relief. “Keith-”

“You’re leaving again, I’m not an idiot.” Keith pushes his bowl back from where he sits and stares Shiro down across the table, lips pressed into a thin line. “I know. I’m still gonna be here when you get back.” 

In the morning, Shiro tilts his head down to kiss him but it’s not a long one; neither of them try to extend it or make it anything but a kiss that lingers a moment, nothing more. 

“I’ll be back,” Shiro promises. He wonders if he even ought to bother saying that until he knows he’s actually going to stay. “Keith-- listen. I know you’re always going to be...here, but if you need--”

“I’m staying with Allura this weekend; she has a few appearances she needs to go to and I have a sub for the classes.” He wonders if it’s better or worse that they were both thinking the same thing. “Do you want to know?” 

There’s no point in playing dumb. They haven’t had sex this entire stay and most kisses have been perfunctory or sweet, but with no intent behind them. “Do you?” Shiro asks, as if there’s ever been anyone else all these years except Keith, and fleetingly through the years, Allura. 

“Yeah.” Keith’s weight shifts and Shiro’s known him too long to mistake a defensive position for an aggressive one. “You didn’t answer.” 

“Tell me, and then we’ll see after that.” It’s hypocritical, but he’s honestly not sure he can take it, listening to Keith talk about someone else he’s kissed, someone else he’s fucked but worse is knowing that Keith wouldn’t be, because he’s waiting for a man who can’t figure out if he’s going to stay on a planet he’d fought for years to protect. “I’m sorry.” 

“Bye, Shiro,” Keith says and this time doesn’t linger to watch Black leave. 

The fourth time, Keith’s not there. Allura is, however; she’s waiting at the same hangar he lands in as always, but something’s...off. He feels Black’s excitement six planets away but can’t tell what it is or what’s causing it until he steps out and sees her. While the rest of them are scarred and in some cases have found gray hair, Allura looks the same as ever, save for the swell of her belly. 

Keith had told him, of course. Children had never been a consideration for them when they talked about laters, and what ifs because they’d never dared to _hope_ there would be a universe or life safe enough to bring a child into. It was one thing to tell Keith to do it with the full knowledge that one day soon he’d likely come back and Keith would have fathered a child, but it would likely be _Keith and Allura_ , together. Truthfully, he’s not sure where their relationship stands. Close enough for this, he supposes, but Keith’s made no mention of marriage, or intent to move in together. Allura’d wanted a child and none of the Alteans they’d found near the end of the world were any she was interested in. There’s a closeness there, but he can’t be sure if it ought to be read as romantic or practical.

They’d both asked Shiro if this was something he wanted. Keith, with curiosity regarding them. Allura, with a wistfulness while they watched stars together. Once, yes, a thousand times over, yes. A white picket fence, a kid, a significant other, and all of space in front of him to explore. After the war started, he couldn’t imagine doing it, even if he were able to, but Haggar had taken that choice from him, too. Maybe it was for the best but he’d never know. 

“You look gorgeous,” Shiro breathes, because she does; the pregnancy glow is a real thing and she’s always, _always_ been beautiful to him. 

“It’s good to see you, Shiro,” Allura laughs at his awestruck face and drags him into a hug so firm he hesitates, not wanting to hurt her or press against the baby too much. “It’s _fine_ , he’s fine. I promise you.” 

Keith, as it turns out, is off planet ferrying a bunch of flight cadets to the station where they’ll practice their maneuvers in space with the teachers plucked from Matt’s rebellion, a few other planets in the Alliance and two members of the Blades. He’ll be back in a week; none of them pretend that Shiro’s going to be there by the time he’s back. 

They do delivery each of the three nights he’s there; he insists that Allura doesn’t need to be up and it’s not like either of them are foolish enough to let him near the kitchen for anything but eggs. It’s easy in a way that being with Keith the last few times hasn’t been. They sit on the couch together and go over political treaties and proposals; Allura stretches out on the couch and Shiro, after a second of hesitation, gently takes one ankle in hand and starts rubbing, working his way over her feet with careful, firm circles while she melts. 

She lingers unlike how Keith had turned his back the moment Shiro got in last time, staying there until Black’s gone. 

The fifth time he comes back is because it’s been nearly five years since the war ended; there’s political things to deal with, but also, Lance and Hunk are getting married. It’s a tiny affair - anything larger and the press would find a way in, but they hold a secondary wedding and party that’s broadcast both on Earth and to their allies off-planet. Keith is Hunk’s best man and Lance’s oldest sister and Pidge are his. _It’s my wedding; if I want to have two best men who are actually girls, who’s gonna stop me?_. 

Alfor’s a bundle in Allura’s arms, gumming wildly at his fists, brightening every time he sees any one of them. No one asks him to hold him, which he’s grateful for, but at one point, Alfor grabs at his hand when he goes to hug Allura and while Shiro freezes, the baby doesn’t care. He pops Shiro’s finger into his mouth and gums at it, too, cooing around drool and the finger in his mouth. 

“You could stay,” Allura murmurs, Keith off to the side, too far out of reach to hear it. “We want you to stay. You deserve to stay, Takashi.” 

Maybe. The universe is safer, bit by bit but he still can’t. There’s no words for it, no name for the awful feeling inside of him that tells him he can’t do this, but Allura doesn’t ask him to explain or justify it. She presses a kiss to his cheek and a drink into his hand though they both know he won’t do more than sip at the same one all night. “Dance with Keith at least once.” 

He does, because he’s always been weak to them and Allura’s request is twice as heavy and impossible for him to ignore. The song isn’t familiar but it doesn’t matter; Keith presses their cheeks together so he doesn’t have to look Shiro in the eyes, and holds him tight enough that Shiro knows the suit will be wrinkled. He doesn’t care. They invite him home with them, but he can’t. Not with the baby, not knowing he’s leaving in the morning. The excuses almost sound valid when he says them.

Besides, spending the night in Keith’s next to empty apartment means that it’s all the easier to sling his bag over his shoulder and leave when he wakes up, gasping for air in the dark room. Halfway to Theta-Rin, he gets a comm from Allura; Black tells him that it’s close to two in the morning there and he picks up, panic swelling in his chest. 

Allura assures him everyone is fine first and foremost, but follows it up with a request that he knows he can’t say no to. 

_We know you’re coming back, but this -- all of this is hard on all of them, not just Keith. Find whatever you’re looking for out there, but perhaps it’s best not to give false hope until you know_. 

It makes sense; he can’t fight it, can’t object to it. It’s not fair to any of them, let alone Keith and Allura. He promises and promises further that he’ll call whenever he’s able. It’s the least he can do. 

The next few years pass in a blur. Keith moves in with Allura; Shiro tells them to box his things. He thinks about going to Earth, time and time again but it’s never right, there’s always something else. It’s only when he nearly dies -- does die, Elia informs him angrily, he _did die_ , they just brought him _back_ and stuck him in a pod-- that he realizes he can’t do this any longer. He promised Keith and Allura and everyone else he would come back. 

When Kolivan comes to visit him after he staggers out of the pod, tracing a new scar bisecting the one that goes straight down his chest, he knows why. “I can’t keep doing this,” Shiro says before Kolivan opens his mouth; the bastard could at least have the decency to not look smug and approving at it, though. 

“Good.” 

It takes him a day to get back to full strength and a week to finish the hand off of duties but when it’s over, he realizes he’s relieved. The last ten odd years, there’d been no certainty. Someday he’d go back. Someday, he’d figure out what home meant. Now, he’s certain. 

Despite everything, they welcome him back with open arms, but it’s clear no one expects this to be permanent. Shiro makes no promises so he doesn’t have to break them later, but in the back of his head, there’s a _maybe_. Maybe this could work, this time. Maybe it’s been enough. 

They have dinner at Keith and Allura’s with everyone; it’s loud and chaotic and dishes take _forever_ but for a few hours it’s like he never left. Alfor’s growing like a weed and stays attached to Shiro for most of the night until he stats getting cranky with lack of sleep and Allura ushers him off to bed. They make plans to go to the beach in the morning and one by one, the others leave until it’s just Shiro tugging his shoes on, hyper aware of Keith watching him. 

“You have a hotel?” Keith asks though it’s obvious; Shiro hadn’t brought a bag with him so it was clear he wasn’t staying here. “Will we see you tomorrow?” 

“I’ll be there,” Shiro promises just as Allura pads down the stairs, hair falling loose after she’d let it down. It brushes her shoulders, these days, the length apparently too much when a sticky-handed child wanted to grab it all the time. Once he’d grown up enough to stop, she’d gotten comfortable enough with it that she’d kept it. It looks good on her, Shiro thinks, but then, basically everything does. “I wanted - if the offer is still open--” 

“Always,” Allura says smoothly when it’s clear that Keith doesn’t know what to say, his face blank, hands curled into fists. “Shiro, you’re always welcome here.” 

“Long as you want,” Keith manages, finally, and Shiro hates that he deserves every bit of how much those four words hurt. “Spare room is taken by Al, but-” 

“I don’t mind a couch,” Shiro offers quickly, already working through areas nearby all of the paladins to figure out a good place near all of them. Of course; he knew this thing with Keith had no promises attached to it besides Shiro coming home and Keith still waiting for him. There was never any stipulations about his relationship status. “It’s fine, really.” 

“He didn’t mean the couch,” Allura corrects, already coming in for a hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek on the withdraw. “But it’s your choice.” 

That’s -- okay. Shiro blinks, staring dumbly for a long moment because it’s one thing to talk about in abstracts and something else entirely, now. Keith comes in, next and grabs for him, fists a hand in his shirt and hugs him so fiercely that it hurts but neither of them withdraw. When it’s done, there’s a hand at the nape of his neck and he’s dragged into a kiss just as fierce, like Keith’s making up for all the barely there goodbye kisses each time he left. 

When Keith finally pulls away, licking his lips like he’s chasing the taste, Shiro wonders how the hell he left any of the times before this, let alone the first. “We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“I-- yeah. Okay. Tomorrow,” Shiro pats his pockets for his comm and his wallet and leaves before he does something stupid like closes the door behind him with him still inside. Tomorrow.

_________________________

He isn’t sure what he expected, but it’s not...this. Not Allura scooping up a dark haired child, not him tugging playfully at her bangs as they walk, not Lance kicked back at a picnic table, blowing bubbles that land gently on Hunk and Pidge’s hair. Not Keith, standing over the grill, poking at whatever he’s got cooking on there, tapping a foot to the music that Coran’s tweaking on the radio. It doesn’t feel real. It’s only been a day since he’s seen them, but years in between that. It doesn’t feel real that they forgave him so easily, that they let him come back, just like that and told him to bring the mixers they’d forgotten. When he gets there, there are plenty of mixers for the liquor they’ve brought; it was an excuse, he understands, and doesn’t call them on it.

Soon enough, it doesn’t matter what it feels like; he’s being drawn into the fold, the drinks taken from his hand and a clear plastic cup with something acid green in it is passed over to him. He tilts the glass to himself and Hunk glances over the edges of his sunglasses. “Dude, don’t, it’ll burn all the hair out of the inside of your nose and you need those.” 

“Point taken,” Shiro says gamely and takes a drink instead. He’s not sure the last time he had a drink; the Blades didn’t didn’t consume alcohol and drinking when they were on watch almost all the time was never wise so he abstained. 

Now, a bead of sweat dripping down his spine and the fizzing lime taste of the drink on his tongue he thinks he could have missed it, but either way, this is a relief. It’s easy. He accepts hugs, agrees to play Coran in a game of volleyball and then comes to stand off to the side of where Keith’s turning a burger on the grill. 

“Hunk’s not manning the grill?” Shiro asks, desperately fishing for an excuse to talk and hoping it’s not clear and evident what he’s doing. 

Keith casts him a coolly amused look; if he notices the flailing effort he doesn’t comment on it. Another burger gets flipped. “See that table covered in everything? Hunk made all the sides. Told him I wouldn’t let him near this after he insisted on being the one to season everything.” A pause and then some of the chill fades from his tone, from the cautious way he’s addressing Shiro. “Don’t get any ideas. Promised Hunk I wouldn’t let you anywhere near, either.” 

He wonders how big of an “if you even showed up” was attached to that agreement. If Shiro showed up. If he actually came like he promised he would. 

The thought process gets shoved back and Shiro settles in on a picnic table, ass on the table, feet on the seats, delighting in the scandalized look on Lance’s face when he sees him do that. Hunk glances over the rim of his glasses, some sort of spider sense going off at Lance’s palpable shock. 

“That’s not the worst thing ever put on those picnic tables,” he points out reasonably and then goes back to whatever it is he’s reading while Lance rolls his eyes and throws up his arms, muttering _raised in a barn_. Hunk barely blinks when lifting a hand to ensure Lance’s flailing doesn’t come near his face. 

It’s clearly a joke, but-- still. Shiro slides down to settle on the seat of the table instead and wrinkles his nose at Keith’s lopsided little smirk. “It smells good,” Shiro says, and watches Keith blow out a heavy breath and knock the little metal holder down until it holds the tongs shut. Instantly, he knows that’s We’re Talking mode and resolutely settles his glass to the side while Keith comes to stand in front of him, voice low. 

“It’s still me.” Keith says firmly and curls a hand over Shiro’s shoulder, fearless in a way that Shiro doesn’t think he’ll ever be, doesn’t ever recall himself being. Somehow, saving the universe, fighting the Galra - none of that was twisting his stomach into knots like this did. “We meant everything we said last night.” 

Before Shiro can respond to that, Coran is up and over, craning his neck to see if his hotdog is done, already smearing cream cheese and mayonnaise on the inside of his bun. Hunk watches in steadily growing horror, book forgotten; draped over his lap, Lance pats his knee consolingly. “Are you _sure_ I have to wait for it to be cooked? Even if it is a match for ol’ Coran’s weblum-tough belly-- which I assure you, it is _not_ , that’s what we’ve got the pods for!” 

That, thankfully, launches a whole set of conversations layered over each other, from people arguing that it’s processed enough to eat cold to others pointing out that just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. To his credit, Keith doesn’t try to talk over it or bring anything else up. He piles all of the cooked food onto a plate and pushes it against Shiro’s chest. “Make yourself useful and carry that over.” 

Obediently, Shiro hefts it up and takes it over to the table, using a different set of tongs to start dishing people up. For a while, it’s just this. Hunk blowing bubbles while Allura and Keith’s child chases them, followed by a dog with ears so flappy Shiro worries she’ll trip over them. He tries to recall if they ever told him the name of the dog; he knows that she was a present for their child’s fifth birthday, but past that, he blanks on the actual _name_. He’s not sure if that’s his own mind failing him, or if it simply never came up.

From the shade, Lance finishes his drink with a slurp through the straw, staggers across hot sand to grab a towel and goes to sun himself with his toes in the water. Hunk sets a timer so Lance doesn’t bake and goes with Pidge to take Alfor down to the beach. Coran has somehow convinced a group down the beach from them to take him onto their team for volleyball and he’s not doing poorly, from what Shiro can tell. Keith and Allura are -- well, Keith’s finishing a burger, sitting on the picnic table with his feet resting on the seat almost defiantly while Allura comes closer. She hasn’t worn a proper gown for much outside of events requiring it, from what Shiro’s been told. She still moves like she’s in one, though, all steady grace and smooth movements. 

For a moment, he’s hopelessly distracted by the sight of long legs and the short cut of her shorts, the mint green of her toenails. By all rights, he should feel awful, ogling the Princess, especially given that Keith and Allura’s child is burying Lance in the sand a hundred feet away, but after last night-- 

“We’re glad you came, Shiro,” Allura says quietly, touching her fingertips to the top of Keith’s knee after an aborted attempt to touch Shiro. 

Distantly, he hates that he’d made her hesitate - that he’s so far gone that he’s like a stranger to them, but then supposes that no, he’s not. He knows them - he _knows_ them. This distance between them is one he’d put in place himself and if he wants to fix it, he has to be the one to do that. Gingerly, he settles his plate off to the side and hefts himself up onto the table next to Keith, shoulders touching, his knee knocking against Keith’s lightly. Thankfully, Allura says nothing about it. Her hand migrates from Keith’s over to Shiro’s, a warm brand against the material of his shorts.

“I’m glad I came, too,” he responds after realizing he hasn’t said anything, barely resisting the urge to pull a face at his own lack of self-awareness. Neither of them seem to mind it, though; Keith shoves his shoulder against Shiro’s arm affectionately, and Allura’s thumb draws small circles against the inside of his knee. Her fingernails are black instead of the mint green of her toes but the paint bled over the edges of her nails like it was done in a hurry; this time, Allura catches him looking at them. 

“Al wanted to paint them for me.” It kills him a little, how her tone is equal parts wry and affectionate all at once. Idly, she turns her hand this way and that. “He’s still working on coloring within the lines.”

“He’s five,” Keith rolls his eyes, lounging back with one hand behind him to keep himself sitting up, while the other reaches for whatever concoction he’d been sipping while grilling. “Should’ve seen him trying to decide on the color.” 

With all the confidence in the world, Allura steps to the side and rather than sitting next to Keith, pushes herself up until Shiro’s sandwiched between the two of them. By all rights, it should be miserable; it’s hot, the sun is beating down on them and he’s sweating. Instead of uncomfortable, though, it’s...nice. Allura touches their shoulders together and while it’s definitely hot between the two of them, their easy confidence that somehow, they didn’t make the wrong choice inviting him here, inviting him home. 

“He agonized over it all night. I barely escaped ending up with black, red and purple nails.” Allura curls her hand into a loose ball and examines her nails, picking at a few bits of polish on her cuticles, the gesture far too intentionally innocent to actually be that way. “He was trying to figure out what the best color would be for you.” 

It’s honestly sort of amazing how a handful of words can punch through his chest with the same intensity as a physical blow; Shiro stiffens and doesn’t miss the way that Keith leans forward and gives Allura a _look_. “It’s fine,” Shiro mutters, suddenly almost ashamed at his reaction, tugging the edges of his shorts down to fall back over his knees, self-conscious. “It’s really sweet of him to think about that.” 

Considering this is technically the only time besides last night that Shiro’s met him, it feels -- off. Like he doesn’t deserve this child’s affection, despite knowing that children give affection wildly and freely, good in a way that he supposes all of them used to be at one point. The post-war issues haven’t touched him, from what Keith and Allura have said. There’s been training, of course; Allura needed an heir and wanted a child and it wasn’t as if Shiro could ever give her that, for a variety of reasons. 

“He’s a good kid,” Keith murmurs, quieter, his arm easing from behind himself to behind Shiro; it’s not quite an arm around the waist, but it’s close, especially when Allura’s hand migrates to cross Keith’s, a solid X behind him that puts them both squarely within range of scooting under his arms. After a brief moment of hesitation, he leans back against them and with the same simultaneous ease that they led Voltron with, they scoot into him. It pushes the boundaries of too warm but he can’t bring himself to object, not when he catches the edge of Keith’s pleased smile, and the way Allura tips her head down and presses their temples together a moment. “He said he’d give up his room and go sleep on the couch if you were gonna stay.” 

There’s that same punched-out feeling in his chest again; Shiro blows out an unsteady breath and watches Alfor spray sand behind him as he chases their dog. “He doesn’t need to do that.” 

“We told him you were staying in our room because you were too big for his bed,” Allura murmurs, daring to tilt her head so her cheek rests against the side of his head. He doesn’t know how she stands it; he can feel himself sweating, but he supposes they’re all hot so it doesn’t matter so much. “He said he could take the footboard off himself but we let him know it was like a--” 

Even with ten years off and on Earth, some phrases still escape her and Keith takes over, the curve of his lips positively smug, now. “Sleepover. He’s excited to show you his new pajamas. They’ve got lion paws for feet.” 

For a moment, he can’t say anything, helplessly aware that they’re welcoming him in like this, after so long with no hesitation. They’ve _built_ something here - something good and whole and he can’t help but feel like he’s intruding despite how many times they’ve all made it clear that they’ve missed him. There’s no way to combat the awful voice that tells him that he doesn’t deserve it, that he isn’t worthy of it despite knowing that it’s not true. 

“Hey. It’s okay.” Keith shifts, turning just enough to look at him - not look _up_ at him, not with the extra foot he’d grown since Voltron started. There’s still a part of Shiro that’s surprised in the best of ways to see him like this - broader, more confident. With a _child_. For a moment, Shiro’s helpless to do anything other than look back at him, fumbling for words but Keith saves him from that, too, hopping off the picnic table with a thwack of each flip-flop hitting the sand. “Let’s go see if Lance figured out he got buried or not.” 

Blessedly, Allura doesn’t comment on the change of subject or the very obvious avoidance of Shiro’s laundry list of issues. She slides off the table just as gracefully as she hopped up onto it and perches her sunglasses back on her nose, glass in hand. “If he runs around for another hour, he may just be tired enough that he won’t stay up all night anticipating the sleepover.” 

“ _Please_ ,” Keith mutters with feeling and a little sheepishness; there’s no expectation behind the comment just as there’s been no expectation with any of their offers and invitations.

Gingerly, he eases off the table as well and brings his drink with him, the three of them walking shoulder to shoulder down to the beach to discover that Lance hasn’t woken up, but Alfor’s done a rather impressive attempt at a sand mermaid on him, though his feet are bare from the water licking at the attempted fish tail. 

“Big fan of the story of Lance on the mermaid planet?” Shiro asks, bending down to sift through the chunks of shell and larger bits of sand that wash up with each sweep of the water. It’s Texas, so the water’s not warm and it’s not like there’s a lot to sort through, but it’s the closest beach to the Garrison.

“That, and he spent a week with Lance’s family earlier this year while we were away.” Keith lifts a now bare foot and scoops the sand on Lance’s chest to be less pecs and gives them a little more volume. He barely stifles his yelp when Lance’s hand shoots up and grabs at his ankle and one blue eye squints up at him. 

“Hey, leave my A cups alone, Al worked really hard on them,” Lance yawns and the sand on top of him cracks and breaks with the rise and fall of his chest, little bits spilling over into the divots that Alfor had dug out on either side where Lance was asleep. “We still gonna introduce Allura to chicken fighting? ‘Cause if so, I claim Shiro and if Pidge says that they claimed him first, they’re lying.” 

“You can’t call shotgun during _chicken fighting_.” 

“Uh, yeah you can, I just did, and Shiro wants to be on my team, right?” 

“I - yeah. We can do that.” His chest feels too tight, like all the relief and affection and everything else are bundling up too tightly for him to properly breathe with how easily they’re all taking this, taking him being back. 

“Cool,” Lance grins, easy as you please and throws an arm over his eyes. “Wake me back up when you guys wanna get your asses kicked.” 

Grinning despite himself, Shiro wades further into the water and dips a hand down to grab a shell from the water - in perfect shape, a soft peach fading to a cream near the edges. After a moment of hesitation, he sticks it into his pocket, the dampness making it stick to his thigh slightly. He doesn’t _need_ it, but lately, he’s found it helps, having something physical to trigger memories when his own fails him. Allura and Keith assured him they don’t mind; everyone has scars from the war, physical and not, but it’s impossible for it not to feel like he’s burdening them further with his mind’s failures. 

Beside him, Allura toes off her sandals and edges into the water, grimacing at the chill of it, her nose wrinkling, sunglasses rising slightly. It’s certainly not the pool on the Castle, warmed before it’s pumped inside, but after the heat around them, Shiro’s grateful to wade a little deeper, shorts sticking to his legs. 

“S’not so bad when your body goes numb,” Lance calls, yelping when Keith kicks a splash of water at him from the edge. Hunk and Pidge amble closer now that everyone’s near the water, Alfor swinging between their hands, feet barely brushing the ground as they lift and lower him, the puppy chasing after his feet with excited barks. 

They do introduce Allura to chicken fighting but it’s not Shiro and Lance who win. Allura and Coran team up and despite all accusations of them cheating, shifting their size to be denser, they thoroughly thrash everyone. By the end of the day Shiro’s grinning and warm in a way that the chill of the water can’t begin to touch. 

The walk back is full of squishing shoes and Alfor complaining that his socks are wet and he doesn’t want to walk all the way. Allura offers to let him ride on her shoulders, but he turns big blue eyes up to Shiro and he knows -- he knows what he’s about to be asked and is already crouching down to accept it. He’s got his duffle bag in one hand, but it’s not heavy at all; Keith takes it to let Alfor clamber up onto Shiro’s shoulders and damp, salt-crusted hands curl into his hair, holding tightly. No one tells him he doesn’t have to, or that it’s fine, he can walk; Alfor whoops and Shiro grins a little wider, taking his bag back from Keith while they walk the rest of the way home. 

He’s seen holos of their house before and was there last night when he landed back on Earth, but it’s one thing to visit at night for a team dinner and something else to realize that this is where he’s staying, now. Alfor nearly gets dropped in his haste to get down and inside to change his socks and shoes, Keith following him to make sure that he doesn’t slide on the floor and get hurt. 

“You can do whatever is best for you, Shiro,” Allura murmurs, standing just inside with the door open, understanding in a way he doesn’t deserve - can’t ever be worthy of. “If it’s just for tonight, that’s fine, too.” 

It’s not, though. He’s run away enough times. 

Slowly, Shiro hefts his bag up onto his shoulder and steps into the threshold, promptly met with forty pounds of thrilled little boy slamming into his legs. 

“Welcome home, Shiro,” Allura murmurs gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Shiro drags in a shuddering breath and smiles back at her and Keith, the door closing quietly behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at SDCC this week so I can't write more stuff for this but HOOBOY do I wanna go into depth on Shiro's visits back to earth. Say hi if you're there! My twitter is [here.](https://twitter.com/SarahKFetter)


End file.
